


A Dragon is No Slave

by King_Maegor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Collars, Dark Jon Snow, Dom/sub, F/M, Incest, Romance, Sexual Slavery, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Maegor/pseuds/King_Maegor
Summary: Sold into slavery by her father to pay his debts, Daenerys Rogare's beauty catches the eye of a Prince of Westeros.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 159
Kudos: 204





	A Dragon is No Slave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gutterking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterking/gifts), [mywishingglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywishingglass/gifts), [Vae_Victis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae_Victis/gifts), [opheliamillais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliamillais/gifts).



**Prince Jonothor Targaryen**

Near the coast of Dorne, the air was made thick with the humidity of the Sea. The breeze that came over the hills offset the discomfort somewhat, ruffling their flowing silks. By Dornish standards, their garb was muted. Silk the color of the Dornish sand dunes rather than the bright motley that Arianne and her cousins were fond of wearing and dressing him in.

Nymeria had jokingly complained about the bland dress but consented to his logic of not wanting to draw attention. More attention meant the need for more guards and more guards meant a slower journey overall. Jon had wanted to reach Starfall in a few days’ time, but nearly a week later and they were still over a hundred leagues from the castle.

The journey had been slowed by Tyrion’s need to visit and pay patronage to every brothel along the way. Normally, Jon would have insisted his friend skip at least a few to hasten their journey but depriving the Dornish whores of Lannister gold would not endear him with the people.

They traveled by night to escape the brutal touch of the sun and preserve their mounts. It meant a shorter amount of time to ride overall. Summer nights were hours shorter than the days and to make up the difference, Jon normally had them ride the first few hours of the morning before the heat forced them to make camp.

The desire to see the dawning sun over the briny waters of the Sunset Sea made Jon draw their party closer to the coastline. It was a tad more dangerous of a journey. Princess Arianne stood to inherit many things once she fully ascended to the heiress of Dorne, but a fleet of sufficient size was not one of them. As such, the Dornish coastline was a notorious haven for pirates and criminals.

Jon was hardly worried. They traveled light but were not entirely defenseless. His two squires rode with him, Edric Dayne and Ned Umber. The boys were three and ten but resourceful. Edric could one day be as famous and formidable as his uncle and Ned had the same build as his brothers and father. Six and a half feet and growing still. Oberyn ensured all his daughters were capable of defending themselves and Nymeria was no exception. Her knife-throwing skills were unmatched. Tyrion, while limited by his stature and deformity, was comfortable with an axe. Finally, Arianne had not allowed them to leave without some protection. Ser Daemon Sand rode with them, one of the most formidable swordsmen that Dorne could offer. Last and certainly not least, Jon bore Blackfyre on his hip.

“We should make camp early,” Nymeria said. Her tone was suggestive. Jon’s cock stirred. Long and lean with light olive skin and a facial structure inherited from the Old Blood of Volantis, Nymeria was a beauty that would turn heads at any court. He nearly found himself agreeing. _It’s been a long week._

“Another hour,” he maintained. Nymeria pouted but did not press her point further. He looked back to see Edric’s and Ned’s grinning faces. The two enjoyed watching his struggle in deflecting the Sand Snake’s advances. He knew she preferred women. Her appetite for pretty whores was nearly as voracious as Tyrion’s but Nymeria had made her interest in him clear. Whether her interest was genuine or a part of a plot by Princess Arianne to secure their possible marriage, he could not say.

Jon shook his head. He urged his horse to canter. The sand steed was eager to run, and they quickly separated from the group. Ever competitive, he knew his squires were quick to follow and soon a race was on.

Dornish sand steeds were bred for endurance. As such they were slimmer than any breed of horse found north of the Red Mountains. Their lightweight gave them an unmatched grace over the loose sand of Dorne’s dune laden coast and the beat of their hooves was almost silent.

The prince outpaced his pursuers, spurring his horse forward at a pace most would find hazardous. They rode in the valley between hundred-foot-tall dunes. When he turned to look for his pursuers, he found empty sand. With a grin, Jon spurred his horse to crest the dune. The beast surged to complete the task. With luck, he could circle around his squires and catch them from behind.

The sky began to lighten and by the time he crested the hill, there was enough light to see for miles in every direction. A flicker of light adjacent to the sea caught his attention. Jon squinted. It was still too dark to discern the fine details, but the light was unmistakably a fire. A large one. He turned his horse quickly and descended the far side of the dune.

He caught Edric and Ned minutes later.

“Quiet,” Jon ordered. “There’s a ship along the coast.”

“Pirates?” Edric questioned.

“Or slavers,” Jon answered. “We won’t know until we get closer.” The boys shared a grin. They were eager for action. Jon led them closer to the coast, this time at a more measured pace. Even as the sky lightened, the shadows remained deep between the dunes. They wouldn’t be spotted. Accompanied by his squires, Jon crested the hill once again. This time on foot. When they reached the peak, the three crawled on their bellies.

Edric passed Jon the Myrish spy lens he carried on his belt. The prince gazed through the device, careful to not blind himself from the flames of the fire. A long narrow ship had been pushed on the beach, more than a dozen feet from high tide’s line. _Slavers._ Jon had spent near a year in the free cities with his brother and was familiar with the design of Tyroshi slaver ships. This one was far smaller than the behemoths that sailed from the Sunset Sea to the Lands Beyond the Wall in search of human chattel. The smaller size had not aided its ability to withstand the summer storms as the second of its two masts was snapped in half. The wood used as fuel for the large fire burning in front of the ship.

“Edric, circle back and alert the others. Make sure they use the dunes as cover, I don’t want us spotted,” Jon ordered. His squire nodded and slid down the dune without a word. Stranded slavers were a desperate sort and the type to be avoided. Had he a dozen more men with him, Jon might have considered throwing them back into the sea. Slavery was outlawed in Westeros, both buying and selling. To circumvent long-established laws was a crime punishable by death. _The desert will claim them._ Jon reminded himself. It was a several days ride to any sizable civilization and he spied no horses. Still, there was an urge to draw Blackfyre and deal with the slavers himself.

As the sun returned to the world, the camp began to awake with activity. Jon counted a dozen and half men and at least twice that number of slaves. His jaw tightened at the large portion of female slaves. They would expire the quickest. Most wore simple strips of cloths that covered their breasts and nether regions, though a few lacked even that. They were burdened by heavy chains shackled their wrists and ankles, often the chains linked two or three slaves together such that they only had a few feet of freedom before their partner was forced to move along with them. The blistered skin of both the men and the slaves told him they had been there for some time.

Jon sighed. There was little he could do. He swallowed in regret and made to lower the Myrish lens. A flash of silver caught his eye. Curious, he focused his gaze once more.

She stood in the shadows, chained to two taller slave girls. One of them must have stood directly in front of her because there was little possibility that he would have overlooked her otherwise. A dainty creature, she could not have been more than three inches above five feet. Slender, lightly tanned skin with waist-length silver-gold tresses that were distinctly Valyrian. To call her lovely would be an incredible understatement. He steadied his hand and focused the lens on her face. _She must fetch a fortune._

Jon memorized her features. A straight nose, sized perfectly, lovely lips. Her breasts were hidden by brief strips of sweat laden cloth. The material looked thin and Jon wondered how close he needed to be to see the outlines of her nipples. She leaned against the hull of the ship in the shade of a section of the ship’s sail. The silver-haired beauty and her companions were the prettiest of the lot though others were distant compared to her radiance. He studied her form again. The cloth that covered her hips ended well above the midpoint of her supple thighs. Thong sandals protected her tiny feet from the rapidly heating sand.

 _She’s young. Could not be a year or two older than Visenya._ Her hair was braided away from her face and she had an innocence to her that only came with youth.

The more he watched her, the more he wanted her. Emotions played across her face. A false bravado. She braved a few smiles and spoke in inaudible whispers to the girls around her. _An optimist._ He inferred. _Or a leader._ Whatever words she spoke, they were enough to keep an audience. The half dozen slaves under the tarp with her had their attention squarely aimed at the silver-haired sprite. A few even wore cautious smiles.

The mood changed in a moment. The camp snapped to attention, men stood, and slaves shuffled to hide behind each other. Jon forced the lens away from the beauty and found the source of the activity. Blue haired and garbed in striped hose and billowing pants and tunics common to Tyroshi mercenaries, Jon thought the man the captain of the vessel. Though he could have just easily have been hired security who had taken control sometime during their mishaps. Either way, the slaves cowered at the sight of him while deckhands stood waiting for orders.

The blue haired man was armed, two Myrish stilettos and long Bravos blade adorned his hip. His ring mail was gold and three fingers on each hand bore jeweled rings. The most blatant display of wealth, however, was what he carried in his left hand. A sack of water or wine, Jon could not tell. The slaves eyed every drink the captain took with envy.

He swaggered about the camp. His orders were carried out at once though Jon struggled to see anything productive from the man’s methods. It was a flexing of his power. Necessary so he could maintain order, but it would do little to improve their situation.

Acts of violence were carried out at his whim. The male slaves, few as they were, weren’t spared from at least a punch or a kick. Not from the captain but from his men. They laughed as they did it. Several of the male slaves were beat until they doubled over from the pain. The women were spared from the punches but endured groping and worse. Several of them were offered as rewards to the crew. Most accepted their fates quietly but a few protested. That drew the greatest amount of excitement. All were stripped bare and passed from crew member to crew member before ending up in the arms of the rewarded. The protestors faced rougher treatment though the quieter ones were not spared from rough handling either.

Jon’s resentment grew the longer he watched but it reached a fever pitch when the blue haired captain made his way to the silver haired beauty and the other slaves. Many of them cowered at the sight of the captain, while a few preened for his gaze, perhaps hoping to win his favor. The silver haired beauty did neither. She held her gaze straight.

The captain paused in front of her, blocking Jon’s view. Whatever the man said drew a fit of laughter from his men. Jon however, had seen enough.

“Ned,” The Prince whispered.

“Race you to the horses,” Ned responded.

**Daenerys**

She winced when he grabbed her chin. Against her will, he turned her head. The heat of his breath fell upon her neck. He pressed her against the hull of the ship. Daenerys fought the urge to shiver. The captain noticed her revulsion and pressed his pelvis against her belly. He leaned down to take a deep breath of her scent.

“How the fuck do you still smell so good.” She felt him harden against her belly. Daenerys gritted her teeth and fought the urge to hit him. She had done so once and rather than hit her, he had punched a slave girl hard enough to break two of her teeth.

“Go on, touch it.” He nodded to his tented trousers. Daenerys glared at him instead. Daario held her fiery gaze. He smiled, revealing a gold tooth grinned. It was more feral than friendly, and Daenerys was reminded of how similar she was to a doe at the mercy of a jackal. After a while, he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “If that fucking pirate wasn’t paying me a fortune for you, I would fuck you until you loved me.”

He let his threat hang in the air for a long moment before releasing her. The captain was quick to grab Anya by the arm. His favorite and most frequent bedwarmer. Meek and fearful, Anya sought to meet the Captain’s every need rather than face any pain. Daenerys thought she would rather die than be forced to endure such humiliation. The captain treated her more like a pet than a human. She watched as the captain grabbed Anya gently by the collar. It was a thin strip of well-made leather with a golden buckle, a contrast to the heavy-duty leather belt with an iron buckle around Daenerys’ and the other’s necks. Anya practically purred under such treatment and molded her body against the Captain’s.

The Captain pulled down Anya’s top to expose a dusky nipple. She gasped, either in delight or pain, Daenerys could not decide. Her cries were silenced when the Captain made her drink deeply from the wineskin. Anya drink her fill and then obediently sucked the drops of wine from the Captain’s fingers.

Resentment grew in Daenerys’ heart. She had noble blood. Her father had designs to wed her to the son of a magister. Even her father had concubines and bed slaves, but such a life had never been for her. _Now…_ Daenerys tried to push the insidious thoughts from her mind, but they were persistent. Only the promise of a fortune kept Daario from ruining her.

At first, Daenerys rejoiced. The other slave girls had not been so lucky. It did not take her long to realize that Daario was a man loyal only to himself and his pocket. Even if the man he sought to sell her too insisted that she was unspoiled, there were ways to lie convincingly. She worried what sort of a man this Euron Greyjoy was that Daario would not take the chance.

The sound of a whip-crack startled the camp. “Get up! Time to work.” Resentment hung heavy in the air, but none dared voice a protest. The male slaves stumbled to their feet, while the female slaves not already entertaining the crew shuffled to waterline, buckets in hand. The seawater could not be drunk, but the coolness at least combatted heat stroke.

Her captors hoped the hull of the ship could be repaired with excess wood and wood from the mast, at least enough to complete their journey to the Iron Islands. Spite made her wish they failed. _And then we will all starve._ Her rational mind reminded.

 _I don’t want to die. Nor do I want to meet this Euron._ Once again, Daenerys prayed. To Pantera, Yndros of Twilight, the Red God, and even Bakkalon; the pale child. To any god that would hear and heed her pleas. _I am in Westeros now._ Daenerys did not know if to pray to the foreign Seven-Faced god that most worshipped in this country or the Gods of Old Valyria for the descendants of the dragonlords who still ruled this continent. She decided to whisper a prayer to both.

The warm seawater kissed her ankles and Daenerys waded deeper into the surf. It was slow going with the two other girls chained to her, but they followed Daenerys’ direction until the water encompassed her waist. Daenerys dumped her bucket over her head, washing away the grit in her hair. She turned to help her companions wash their hair when a scream pierced the camp.

Daenerys turned just in time to see a slaver collapse with a spear embedded in his back. _Mutiny?_ No, the slaves looked just as shocked as the slavers. Another spear sailed through the air to pierce a gawking pirate through the back of his throat. She traced the long path of the spear. A lone warrior stood amongst the sand. His garb was the color of the dunes and with the shimmer from the heat, he seemed to appear and disappear at will.

He jumped nimbly onto the saddle of his horse and drew a black sword. The nobleman’s daughter blinked in both surprise and wonder when the warrior charged his horse straight to the camp. Two pirates rushed to level crossbows at him. The first bolt sailed wide and the horseman decapitated the crossbowman before he could ready another bolt.

The rider’s horse snarled when the second bolt punched into its shoulder. They surged forward until the crossbowman leveled a second crossbow and loosed a bolt directly into the horse’s eye. Daenerys saw the instant life left the beast. Its legs crumpled under its body mid-stride. The rider leapt from his dying horse’s saddle. A cloud of dust encompassed the rider. The crossbowman drew a skinny blade and rushed the mad man. There was a flash of black steel. Once. Twice. A spray of blood and the warrior with the ebon blade was sprinting towards camp.

He seemed even more dangerous afoot. Two men rushed to meet him, axes in hand. He ducked under a swipe meant to take his head and took the arm of a pirate before the two could recover. Their clash of steel rang throughout the camp and more pirates surged to confront the warrior. Black hair was revealed when his hood slipped. His handsome face was affixed into a stern mask.

He moved by instinct. Quicker than the other men. Stronger too. Another fell to the dirt, another victim to the black blade. More commotion came from the camp. The pirates were too slow to realize that the warrior was not alone. Three more riders charged the camp, intercepting the pirates before they could reach the black sword-wielding warrior. Mounted, the warrior’s companions wreaked havoc amongst the pirates. Several made to flee, scattering in all directions. 

The warrior payed them no head. He continued his sprint towards camp. A few swings of his sword and a dozen slaves were freed. “Fight,” he commanded. His voice was sharp and clear. Her heart stirred at the sound. The spirits of the men he freed rose as well. They followed him into action, some grabbing whatever they could find to use as weapons, others raced to free more men.

He led the charge. Each way he turned; another man died. He was a painter, his blade his brush and the sand his bloody canvas. None could stand against him. Not even the captain. The warrior slapped away the first thrown Myrish stiletto with his blade and dodged the second. Daario was a step above the warrior’s previous opponents, and for a moment Daenerys feared the pirate would prove victorious. For a moment. A backhanded pommel strike to the chin brought Daario to his knees. The warrior completed his spin before Daario could recover and drove his sword into the Captain’s spine.

A cry of triumph left Daenerys lips. Loud enough that it captured the warrior’s attention. He pulled his black blade from the Captain’s back and let the body slump to the dirt without ceremony. The battle, if it could be called such was over when the captain was killed. The pirates who had not scattered to the sands were butchered without mercy by the slaves and the warrior’s men. She watched the butchery from the water, pinned by the warrior’s gaze that did not waver.

It was over quickly. Their chains were struck and for the first time in months, Daenerys walked without chains. Emotions threatened to overwhelm her, and she could not keep the smile from her face. The other captives had similar reactions, and several hugged their saviors with tears in their eyes.

“You’ve saved us, son,” A wrinkled man said with great gratitude. The riders had dismounted from their horses and removed the coverings from their faces. Young men, all of them. Two of them surprisingly so. A circle of grateful slaves formed around the warriors.

The blonde-haired warrior rubbed the back of his head bashfully. He couldn’t have been much older than Daenerys herself but had displayed overwhelming courage like all of his friends in attacking the pirates. “Thank Prince Jonothor for leading us. He is the one who took pity on you all.”

A murmur passed through the crowd. _A prince._ Daenerys’ mind raced. She studied the dark-haired man. Obviously, the leader of the band of warriors, he moved with all the grace she thought a prince should possess.

“We struck your chains for a reason. In Westeros, we hold no slaves,” The Prince began in High Valyrian. His voice was heavily accented, but he spoke the language with ease. His dark eyes scanned the faces of the crowd. The realization that they were in the presence of royalty slowly began to work its way through the slaves. One by one they began to kneel in supplication. Daenerys followed their example and soon enough everyone was kneeling save for the prince’s friends. “By the order of my lord father, King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of his Name, I pronounce you all free men. Freedom does not mean lawlessness. You are now subjects of the King, you will keep the king’s peace and should you break it will be subject to its consequences. Is that clear?” A chorus of “ayes” followed. 

Satisfied by the consensus, the prince continued. “We’ll be making the journey to Starfall. Any are welcome to follow. Along the way are several villages that might have places for you but the Daynes are fair overlords who will find you work and shelter if you do choose to stay. For those who want to make their own journey, I caution against it. Dorne’s sun and sands are unforgiving. Lose your way and chances are no one will find you.” He let his warning hang in the air for a moment. “We leave at sunset.”

Daenerys did her best to help strip the ship and camp for anything useful, but she had trouble tearing her eyes away from the prince. _A Targaryen Prince._ Even in Lys many girls dreamed of catching the eye of a Westerosi prince. The sunset king had won his war and the gods had blessed him with two strong sons. _One bright, one dark. The heir and the spare._ Or so the song went. It had been awhile since she heard it. _He must be the spare._

The songs told the stories of the mad and formidable sons of Rhaegar. The elder was said to be fond of finding and executing his father’s enemies, both those in court and the ones in the shadows. _The danger of the viper with the dragon’s temper._ A vaguely remembered verse resounded in her mind. And the younger… the rumors of him were just as brilliant.

Despite his dark hair, Prince Jonothor’s Valyrian heritage could be discerned. Most notable was his eyes. An indigo so dark they looked black in the shade. His straight black hair was pulled back into a neat knot and he had high cheekbones and a sharp jawline decorated with stubble. Handsome, the prince was a magnet for female attention. The flames were stoked further by his politeness. Daario had prowled through the camp like a king and treated the slaves worse than animals, his pirates had not behaved any better. Stoic and reserved, the Prince’s behavior sharply contrasted.

She watched the women surround the prince akin to flies on honey. They found any excuse to remain near him. Four sat at the prince’s feet as he cleaned his magnificent black sword. He paid little mind to the attention, instead focused on removing the slightest smudges from the blade’s length. Closer to the sword, Daenerys could see the distinct smoke like ripples that marked the sword as Valyrian Steel. _That sword is worth five times as much as my father ever was._

A long time ago, her father had been a man of great wealth. A noble merchant belonging to the lower branch of a once legendary family. Still, despite their family’s troubled past, her father had built an ever-growing empire for himself. Three times her father had offered ruinous sums to buy their family’s Valyrian Steel Longsword. Three times he had been refused.

Now, Daenerys had little doubt her father would kill for such funds. After all, a man who sold his only legitimate daughter into slavery to settle his debts should be accustomed to desperate measures. Daenerys swallowed the bitter taste that rose in her throat and tried to turn her eyes away from the Prince and his sword. Not before the Prince caught her stare.

Once again, she was arrested by his eyes. They studied her intently, drawing a rush of heat to her face. Daenerys was no stranger to the weight of men’s stares, but this felt different. The Prince was unquestionably majestic, handsome and poised, akin to the pale lions that roamed the Dothraki Sea. This time though, Daenerys felt not as potential prey but a shy lioness announcing her presence to an unfamiliar male. Gathering her courage, she granted him a smile. The slight upturn of his lips weakened her knees.

“Why, this one is magnificent,” a raspy voice interrupted their exchange. Daenerys turned to see the newcomer. Surprise colored her face at the sight of an elegant woman who did not at all match the voice. Lean and dark haired, with smooth olive skin, she was elegant. Her dress only heightened the allure. Soft and sand colored with bands of gold around her wrist and ankles, the woman was certainly well cared for. _The Prince’s concubine?_ Daenerys feared. She schooled her face before it could morph into a scowl.

 _You were just a slave hours ago. There is no claim of yours over a prince._ Still she could not stop the pit of jealousy that rose in her belly.

The woman noticed Daenerys shift in attitude and returned a snide smirk. She drifted past Daenerys to plant herself in the prince’s lap, pushing aside the girls who crowded the shaded sand around him. There was some satisfaction to be found when Anya fell to her side, shocked. Even more so when the prince removed the woman from his lap. Albeit, gently but Daenerys did feel a small sense of victory when the woman pouted.

A rough set of hands gripped her own and she was surprised to see a dwarf lay a kiss across her knuckles. He was short, even by dwarf standards. No more than a few inches above three feet tall, paired with mismatched green and black eyes, he was an odd figure. Made even more so with his jutting forehead, large nose and blonde hair streaked with white. “Tyrion Lannister, at your service.” Despite his grotesque features, his smile was charming. She knew the Lannister name well. The Golden Lion’s merchant fleet frequented Lys’ ports.

She returned the greeting. “Daenerys Rogare.”

The little man blinked in surprise. “A Rogare in Westeros? That is a name I thought only reserved for the history books. Please, tell me how you ended up here.”

A shiver ran down Daenerys’ spine. Her eyes stung at the memory and she felt the weight of the dwarf’s gaze as he waited for her answer. A large hand settled on her shoulder and she felt the looming presence of the prince behind her. Shocked at his sudden closeness, she tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. Her back touched his chest. “Enough Tyrion.” The Prince’s voice was gentle but firm.

Tyrion nodded. “No offense intended, my lady.”

Daenerys remained tongue-tied. It had been so long since anyone had addressed her with an honorific. The change was jarring. She remembered her servant girls barring the door to her room when her father told her the news. _My lady_ , they called her even as they held her down so she wouldn’t try the window.

“Walk with me, Daenerys.” The Prince’s hand encircled her arm and led her away from the dwarf. Surprised by his forwardness, Daenerys stumbled. He caught her, slowing his pace. “Careful.”

Daenerys’ ire flared. She wasn’t some simpleton to be led around. _He could have waited for my response._ Common sense stilled the barb waiting on her tongue. Few men in power tolerated a woman lashing out. Daario had been prone to violence. She knew not what sort of man this Prince was.

“Where are we going?” Daenerys asked as he led, he through camp. He had yet to release her arm and she found that she did not mind the contact as much as she should have. Still, asking questions made her feel more of a participant in this excursion.

“A walk.” He provided no further answer. _Where?_ They were flanked by a rough sea on one side and tall Sand Dunes on the other. His determined gait discouraged her from questioning him further. His grip on her arm relaxed and he grabbed her by the hand instead.

It had been over an hour since Daario and the other pirates had been killed. The Prince had not allowed idleness to take root. Instead, the camp bustled with activity. Shelters from the harsh desert sun were being erected, the Prince’s deceased horse was being skinned and cleaned; none would go hungry tonight. Most gruesome of the preparations were the headless and handless corpses piled unceremoniously near the waterline. Their heads were mounted on stakes that stretched several hundred feet down the coastline. To her dismay, the prince led her to the first stake near the water.

Daario’s listless eyes stared across the sea. His face had been bruised beyond recognition, but the rich color of his dyed hair was unmistakable. The pirate captain’s fingers had been stripped of his rings and stuffed into his mouth. Every one of his men shared the same fate. Even those who had begged for mercy.

The former slaves had been eager to carry out the punishments, but the Prince had stood at ready to perform the executions himself if need be. Daenerys stared at the captain’s face unflinchingly. If the Prince was testing her, she hoped to pass. “Do you know why I ordered this?”

“As a punishment?” Daenerys answered uncertainly.

The Prince scoffed. “Most of these men were dead. The dead receive know nothing of rewards nor punishments.”

Daenerys licked her lips. “The living did. There were ten of them.”

“It is a warning.” The wind shifted his dark locks. They were pinned back into a high tail, but a few strands brushed his brow. “The Free Cities are well aware of our laws and yet they will raid our lands and kidnap our people. Each of these,” he gestured to the stakes lining the beach, “reminds slavers of their potential fates.”

“Is this why you saved us? To uphold the laws of your lands?”

He tilted his head. “Do I detect disappointment?”

Heat returned to her face and the rush of embarrassment was instant. “No!” she said quickly. “I am grateful that you and your companions intervened. I owe you my life.”

The Prince’s gaze seemed to focus even further. “I’ve heard that many times today, but I suspect few know what they are promising.”

He was at least four years her elder, perhaps more. _Perhaps he thinks I am naïve?_ She furthered her resolve. “I know what it means.” Daenerys knelt before him. “My life may as well have been forfeit. I vow to repay my debt to you.” 

“It is customary to look a person in their eyes when you swear yourself to them.” She lifted her gaze from his boots. He loomed over her; the sun shaded his face hiding his expression. Daenerys swallowed. “I swear to repay my debt to you.”

“How? Do you intend to save my life? Can you wield a blade or use a bow?” Daenerys shook her head, but she would not be deterred. “I’ll find a way. I’ll do anything that needs to be done.”

“Anything?” His question hung heavy in the air, filled with implication.

She held his gaze. “Anything.” Her words were a promise.

A slight smile touched his lips and satisfaction pooled in her belly. “Good girl. I will hold you to that.” He helped her to her feet and to her surprise, he even brushed away the sand that clung to her knees.

“T-thank you,” Daenerys said, her voice just above a whisper.

“You will need new clothes. I will see to it that Nymeria lets you borrow some of hers. Lest the sun cooks you alive.”

Daenerys frowned at the memory of the woman. “I doubt she will enjoy that.”

“I don’t care what she enjoys. She will obey when I ask.” Daenerys nodded as he spoke. She had no doubt he spoke the truth. He glanced at her. “How are your feet?”

Her brow furrowed. “My feet?”

“You’re a girl of noble blood and noble girls typically don’t do much walking. Let alone with those thin sandals in this hot sand.” Indeed, most avoided walking in the dunes after the sands had hours to bake. Yet the heat had never bothered her.

She wiggled her toes for his inspection. “My feet are fine, see. And I am a lady, not a girl.”

The Prince’s smile grew wider. A small triumph for her. “Very well, but it is a long walk to Starfall. You will ride with me.”

“I know how to ride a horse,” she corrected without thinking.

His brow arched. “Oh? Do you also know how to apparate a horse out of thin air? Such a skill would certainly be extraordinary.”

Abashed, Daenerys relented. _Riding with him won’t be such a chore. At least he is clever._ “Thank you, my lord.”

“It is My Prince or Your Grace. I hold no Lordship or Castle to my name. Referring to me with the wrong title will only embarrass you when we arrive at court.”

“Court?” Her voice squeaked. She cursed herself internally. _Have I been out of practice so long? Even as a child she had been charming the masses that frequented her father’s manse._ The lack of refined company had clearly taken its toll. _Be poised, Daenerys!_

“Do you prefer I leave you in the sands?” It took her a moment to realize he was joking. _His humor is as dry as this desert._

“No, I am just surprised that is all.” Curiosity gripped her. “I have studied maps of your country and I know that your capital city is hundreds of miles north of here. What brings you so far south?”

“Marriage,” he answered simply. Her heart stilled. “Or so my sister hopes.”

She wet her lips. “That woman at camp is your betrothed?”

He laughed. “Nymeria may look like a lady but she is bastard born. No, its her cousin that my sister wants me to wed. Coincidentally both are my sister’s cousins on her mother’s side.”

“You don’t seem enthused. Is your bride not what you envisioned?”

He smirked. “You mean is she hideous?” Daenerys returned a conspiratorial smile. He shook his head. “I’ve known Arianne since I was twelve. Her and Nym don’t look much alike but she is a comparable beauty.”

“Then why?” She knew most men cared above all else how their wives appeared. _A beautiful woman is a statement of status._ Her father would say. _With you, by my side, I’m the most admired man in the world._

“If we were to return to Sunspear, we would see all the lords and sons of the lords of Dorne filling the castle walls to entertain Lady Arianne Martell. And she certainly likes to be entertained.”

They shared a look of understanding. “What will you tell your sister?” She doubted, _your cousin is a whore,_ would suffice.

He shrugged. “It depends on how hard she pursues this venture. Unfortunately, my sister holds the ear and hearts of the two most powerful men in the kingdom.”

The Prince did not seem too concerned that he might be forced into a marriage he had no desire to be in. He must have noticed the question on her face for he continued without her prompting. “I do not know how much you are aware of our history but there are valid reasons why my sister pursues this match. She does not seek my unhappiness.”

Daenerys nodded. A dozen questions floated in her head. His sister had less of a reputation than her brothers, but Daenerys was sure she was just as interesting. _The deeds of women are always the first to be forgotten by the singers._ With greater and greater confidence, she voiced her questions to the Prince. His personality could best be described as reserved, but his answers were forthcoming. She learned of the court though it was clear that he was not schooled on its intrigues. Likely due to his absence and lack of care. Clearly intelligent, his questions about her own life excited her. Best of all he avoided the topic of her servitude all together.

She told him stories and gossip about the Court of Magisters and barely acknowledged that they began to ascend a dune until the slope became steep enough and the sand soft enough that she began to slip backward. Prince Jonothor had no such trouble. His hand-linked around her wrist and together they reached the summit of the dune.

Daenerys’ eyes widened at the vastness of the desert. _How can anyone navigate such barrenness?_

“Earlier you asked why I chose to intervene.”

“You said it was your duty to.”

He scoffed. “I did not. My father would have me confined to the Red Keep if he learned I charged thirty pirates to free a few slaves.”

She flinched. “I-” She did not know how to respond.

“Come here,” he pulled her close before she could process the command. Her back against his chest, he held up a long metal tube for her inspection. “Look through it. Tell me what you see.”

She did as she was told. The camp came into focus. Magnified far beyond was natural, from this vantage point nothing in the camp was hidden from the eye. The Prince breathed into her ear. “I was here before the sun rose, watching. You see, Dorne has no strength at sea. Pirates, smugglers, and slavers are well aware of this. A day or two after we leave another group might take our place. Slavery is outlawed in Westeros, but I cannot save everyone. I was prepared to leave, by all rights I should have left. Take a guess as to what changed my mind.”

Her magnified gaze passed over Anya. With the prince away, the woman had turned attention to his companions. The tall one was grinning like a fool with the beauty in his lap.

She knew what he saw. “Me.”

“Mmhmm,” the Prince breathed into her hair. His arm looped around her waist, pulling her back to him. Rough fingers stroked her bare belly. Her heart thudded heavily. “I am not my brother, swayed easily by a pretty face. Even a beautiful one such as yours should not have prompted such a risk. Yet it did.”

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys offered.

His laugh was rough. “Are you? Things seem to be working out for you so far.” She was so short that her head reached the top of his chest. His chin rested on her crown while his hand mapped her midsection, traveling higher by the moment.

In retrospect, Daenerys should have insisted someone accompanied them. _Who?_ None would oppose the man who led their rescue. Not even those she called friends. Aware of her vulnerability, she fought to remain calm.

“You had to have been his favorite. I saw the way he looked at you.”

She knew he referred to Daario. Her head shook in protest. “He never had me.” _I’m still pure._

“Never?” He was incredulous. “Do not lie to me.”

“I speak the truth,” she pleaded once again. _I’m still pure._

He spun her around to stare at her face. So close to him she could see the flecks of grey in his eyes. Flakes of ice in fiery pools of indigo. “His men?” She shook her head. Searching for a lie, he found none. “No one?”

“I’m pure,” Daenerys answered. Her eyes were soulful. _I am no bed slave._ She tried to tell him. His thumb traced her lips. Daenerys shook her head once more. He appeared pleased by her omission. Still, he did not release her.

“Why? I know men like that captain. They are not easily inclined to be gentle with the fairer sex.” _And you are?_ Daenerys wanted to shout. She feared the outcome.

“They meant to sell me. My buyer requested I remain pure.”

His gaze turned sharp. “Just you? I saw that they did not abstain from the other women.”

“I don’t know why. They were to be sold too but I was specifically meant for one man. The others whispered that the captain feared him. It’s the only reason he and his men did not touch me.”

“Who were you meant to be sold to?”

The mention of Euron Greyjoy’s name altered the Prince’s mood entirely. They had marched back to his tent. Daenerys hoped for an opportunity to slink away, but to no avail. He kept a tight grip around her wrist, and she was forced to follow. When she tried to drag her feet in protest, he threatened to carry her.

The Prince’s companions were waiting for him, along with a few of Daario’s favorite women. Anya still entertained the taller squire, while Doreah sat near the other knight, Ser Daemon. Tyrion had an audience of women to himself, three who sat enraptured by his spirited tale. Most surprising was Nymeria, who openly groped two Dothraki girls, Jhiqui and Irri. Daenerys knew each of the women well. They were the most beautiful of Daario’s wares and were meant to fetch the highest prices. Daenerys most of all.

First to notice the Prince’s foul mood was his blonde squire. The boy sat apart from the group, focused on a book in his hand instead of the women. “Ser?” he questioned.

“We need to speak,” The Prince said before snatching the sack of wine from Tyrion’s hands. The little man made a noise of protest when the prince set it down rather than drink from it, but the Prince’s glower silenced him quickly. The others snapped to attention and soon the women were being shuffled out of the tent. Daenerys made to follow but the prince’s disapproving stare stilled her feet. She sat down on a recently vacated pillow instead.

“You are dismissed as well, Nymeria.” The Dornish woman looked ready to protest but a pointed glance from the Prince had her rise to her feet. She left the tent in a rush, her displeasure thinly veiled by a quick bow.

“You’re doing a terrible job of making nice with your betrothed’s family,” Tyrion said through a belch. He wiped away the wine staining his lips and gave Daenerys a wide grin. It was an ugly expression but a friendly one.

Prince Jonothor shrugged. He settled behind Daenerys, standing while she sat. She failed to suppress the flinch when his hands settled on her shoulders. If the others noticed they did not comment. Large and calloused, his hands reminded her of how much power he had over her. “This one has some interesting news.” He did not afford her time to answer. “She says their ship was bound specifically for Euron Greyjoy.”

“The Iron Isles or Lord Greyjoy in particular? You of all people understand the difference.” The dwarf’s voice was suddenly serious, without a hint of drink.

“More importantly, can you prove such an accusation? Euron is not a second son or a raiding pirate anymore, he is the Lord Paramount of the Iron Isles.” Daenerys was surprised to hear the Dornish man speak. Ser Daemon Sand spoke fewer words than the prince.

The Prince’s hand encircled her throat. “This one here was meant to be his prize. The captain nor his men did not touch her in fear that Euron would discover he had been cheated.”

“She told you this?” Ser Daemon asked. “Your father will not take stock in the words of a slave.”

“I am not a slave,” Daenerys growled. The Prince’s possessive hold on her body but Ser Daemon had the grace to be apologetic.

“Of course, but you once were, and your history is not something the King is likely to ignore.”

“Daenerys is a Rogare. She has noble blood,” The Prince retorted.

“She claims to be one. No offense, but even the smallfolk of Lys have the look of Old Valyria. For all we know you are a rebellious handmaiden sold into slavery posing as the daughter of a Lord with decrepit credit.”

Her blood stirred and she readied to loosen the barb at the tip of her tongue. Prince Jonothor spoke before she could. “I see your point Daemon. If my father doubts her testimony, then he can deal with me.” There was a pause as the others considered the prince’s words. Daenerys wondered what sort of relationship that this prince shared with his father. It did not seem warm.

“You all will lead this group back to Starfall. I will ride ahead with her to King’s Landing.”

The protests to the Prince’s plan were universal. He weathered them all. “Euron has an unnatural ability to know when trouble is coming his way. This time I want to see the look of surprise on his face when I bring his world down around him. I’ll need your horses.”

His blonde-haired squire was the last to leave. He lingered briefly by the flap of the tent; she met his worried stare with a pleading one of her own. Edric left the tent without a word. Alone, her nervousness rose considerably.

The Prince had shed his shirt leaving his torso bare, his hair had been allowed to flow loose to the nape of his neck, his pants hung loosely around his hips, tight around his thighs. Daenerys tried her best not to stare at the Prince, but she found such a task difficult. Lean and muscled with scars that spoke of his active lifestyle, he was certainly one of the most impressive men she had ever seen. _Beautiful even,_ she would only admit to herself.

To her embarrassment, he noticed her appraisement. A smirk appeared on his face. A rush of heat came to her cheeks, but Daenerys refused to break his gaze. A girl would look away; she was a woman.

“Come here,” he ordered. Accustomed to command, his voice was compelling enough that Daenerys had to fight the urge to obey.

Instead, she sat still and arched a brow at him. “Why?”

His lips twitched in annoyance. Quicker than she could anticipate, he closed the distance between them. A firm tug on her wrist and she was pulled to her feet. Daenerys tried to pull away from him but that only enticed him more. She gasped when he pulled her into his chest. Rough hands gripped her arms, dark eyes stared down at her.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “You said I am not a slave. Yet you’ve done nothing but treat me like one.”

“Have I?” His tone was terse. “You sat beside me at meals, given your voice to discussions, and will meet my father soon enough. Do you think I would bring a slave before the King?” Her anger cooled but only slightly. “We will travel across the deserts of Dorne, a journey not without its perils. If you want to emerge unscathed then I expect to follow my orders when I give them. Do you understand?”

He held her gaze until she nodded. Rather than release her, he massaged her arms. Daenerys stared at him questioningly. His eyes wandered over her form. She still wore the scraps of cloth that were all the clothing she had been afforded aboard the slave ship. Threadbare and brief, she may as well have been nude. For months she had endured vulgar looks, gropes and lewd calls by men who told her what they would do with her had they had the chance. The Prince’s look was just as lustful, and the way he invaded her personal space spoke of how much he wanted to do the same.

Despite it all, the shiver that ran down her spine was entirely different from her reactions when other men did the same. He took notice of her reaction and the smirk that was quickly… and infuriatingly becoming familiar was back on his face. She gathered herself and pushed against his chest with all her strength. He didn’t budge.

She craned her neck upward to give him a piece of her mind only for him to claim her lips. Daenerys squeaked in surprise and that only seemed to embolden him. He nibbled on her bottom lip until she allowed his tongue entry. Firm and demanding, their first kiss left her senseless.

He kissed her again and again. Daenerys tried to shove him away. When that did not work, she tried to hurt him. Her fingers dug into the back, nails indenting his skin. She shuddered when he grabbed two handfuls of her buttocks, kneading her cheeks as he carried her with ease. Their lip lock broke when he trailed his kisses down to her neck, sucking roughly on her pulse point. His teeth followed, nipping and bruising her skin.

“Stop.” Daenerys pleaded but her voice held none of the power she wanted. He ignored her and threw her onto his bedding. She bounced once, twice. Recovering quickly, Daenerys scrambled to move away from him. He yanked her back to him by her ankle. She screamed, fighting him with all her worth. “Let me go!”

“Enough!” The Prince’s hand wrapped around her throat, tight enough to cut off her airway. He leaned in close. His eyes were sharp and cold. “Listen you whore, earlier you swore yourself to me or have you forgotten?”

“I-I didn’t know,” she gasped under the pressure around her throat. He eased her on her back, oddly gentle. His grip around her throat loosened but did not cede. “Do you know what I saved you from?” He grabbed her top and ripped it away from her chest. Her breast heaved and her nipples grew stiff under his gaze. He traced around her belly button. “You will beg me to touch you when I’m done. Euron would cut a hole in you and fuck it until you begged him to kill you.” He pinched her nipple until she whimpered in pain. “You’ll crave the pain I bring you.”

Hand still around her throat, he played with her breasts, twisting her nipples until she winced before caressing her breasts with his rough hands. Daenerys kept her hands at her sides but returned the prince’s gaze with her fiercest glare. Laughter rang through the tent. “You’re enjoying this.”

She shook her head vehemently, her silver hair brushed violently around her face. “I am not.”

“Really,” he pushed his knee between her thighs, forcing them open and sliding between them in one smooth motion. Daenerys tried to rotate away but he pinned her hips with his own. Candlelight flickered in his dark eyes. He cupped her face with his free hand kissed her once again. Teeth tugged at her bottom lip, but she remained steadfast and denied him entrance. The Prince kissed her nose, her cheeks, her chin instead. His rocked his hips and Daenerys had to bite her own lips to stifle a deep moan. His thin pants and her even thinner garments did little to impede the contact between their sexes.

Her body reacted as the Prince pressed and rolled his hips against her own. He kissed down her neck and collar, his free hand played left nipple when his tongue found her right. Tears of turmoil ran down her cheeks, pleasure stained her fear. The shame grew intense as his rolling hips forced a reaction from her. Unbidden, her hips rose to meet his and she hissed as his cloth-covered cock pressed against her cunt.

The Prince chuckled darkly. “There you go, little one.” _Little one,_ the words reverberated in her head along with her father’s smiling face and the pride in his eyes. Both had been absent the day he sold her. For months she wondered what she had done to displease him. What she could have done differently? “Good girl,” he breathed in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. The words of appraisal brought forth her subconscious desire to please.

“Stop,” she said again but the word sounded weak even to own ears. “Say it like you mean it,” he growled. He kissed her again and when her lips refused him entry he tugged on her hair until she allowed his tongue to plunder her mouth. Wrist freed, Daenerys’ hands found his back. She traced over the welts left by her nails, pride filling her that she had wounded him, if only slightly.

Her will to fight renewed and she took the opportunity to slap his ear hard. When he pulled back in surprise, Daenerys drove her forehead into his nose. The grunt of pain that followed gave her a great sense of satisfaction, but she did not linger in the moment. Daenerys rolled onto her belly and scrambled from beneath him. She nearly escaped the bed before pain exploded from her scalp. A whimper left her throat when he yanked her back to him by her hair. The slap that followed dazed her.

“Look at me,” he ordered. His voice was so commanding that for a moment she lost the will to resist him. Beneath his angry dark eyes, she saw his split lip, red with fresh blood. Daenerys smiled. He slapped her again, hard enough that she cut her lip on her teeth. “Now we’re even.”

It was hard to resist him when he dragged her by her hair. She tried, but he tied her wrists together behind her back all the same. Her breath came in heavy pants. Weeks on the ship had robbed her of endurance and this was the most she had exerted herself in recent memory. He dragged across his lap, face down. She had to turn her head to the side to breathe.

Tears ran freely down her stinging cheeks, but her anger was still at a fever pitch. “You’re no better than the Captain!” In response, he tore away her bottoms. She cried out in shock and tried desperately to free herself, but he held her firm.

“Stop squirming.” When she did not comply, he delivered a harsh smack to her bottom. Daenerys bit her lip, tasting blood. The Prince smacked her again and again, reddening her cheeks. She arched her spine to get away from the abuse but a firm hand on her lower back kept her in place. “Learn to obey and I’ll stop.”

A ragged cry escaped her mouth and her belly tightened each time his heavy hand landed. Finally, she stilled and to her relief, he was true to his word. Daenerys cried openly. Her ass was on fire, a stinging pain that made her sure she would not sit easily for a week.

“You swore yourself to me today or have you already forgotten?” He rubbed her abused skin. His touch was oddly soothing, but it also set her on edge. What further liberties would he take with her body? Nude, hands tied, and physically outclassed, Daenerys had never felt more vulnerable.

“I didn’t know you’d want this. I thought you were a good person!” Daenerys protested.

He scoffed. “You said you would do anything to repay me. Anything, or was that a lie?” She chose not to answer; it seemed he did not mind for he was enamored by her backside. Her belly clenched with each pat and caress and grope. He parted her cheeks briefly and she shivered when his finger brushed against her rosebud. Daenerys felt the evidence of his arousal press against her belly. A promise of what was to come. “I will hold you to your words even if you do not. _Anything.”_ He stressed the word.

“I didn’t mean _this!_ ” She said with vehemence. Princes weren’t supposed to act like this. Especially not one who risked his life to save slaves. _Fathers are not supposed to make their daughters slaves either._ A fresh wave of tears threatened to fall.

“What did you mean? You have no wealth, no political value, no connections, no-“

“My father,” Daenerys interrupted.

“Your father turned you into a slave. If that does not speak to the lack of value, he places on you then I do not know what does. You’re too delicate to work on a farm or do any sort of hard labor, too beautiful to be a commoner’s wife. The second a lord catches sight of you and he would to take you for himself. I have seen it happen and it is never pretty.” He patted her bottom. “Besides, you have noble blood and are not meant to be the broodmare of some sheep fucker or minor lord. You swore yourself to me. Stay by me and you’ll have the life you deserve. All you need to learn how to do is _obey.”_

**Author's Note:**

> More to come. If your panties are already in a bunch then stop reading now.
> 
> Turned off anon commenting because I'm tired of being spammed by the same 3 people who are too scared to use their real accounts.


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